Leslie's Early Years: Resolution at Last
by FantasyIslander65
Summary: Leslie solves her first problem with Roarke's help, and makes another friend. Second in the 'Early Years' series.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _A direct continuation of "Toward Healing a Soul".  
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§ § § -- March 9, 1979

"Boss, what's wrong with Leslie?" Tattoo asked point-blank one Friday evening after Leslie, pleading fatigue, retreated to her room. "She looks tired all the time, and I think she's starting to get dark circles under her eyes. Isn't she sleeping all right?"

Roarke glanced at the ceiling overhead and sighed gently. "She refuses to admit it, my friend, but she is having nightmares. Something is still bothering her after all this time, and she won't be able to rid herself of it until she talks about it." He thought for a moment and studied his assistant. "Has she mentioned anything to you?"

"If she had," Tattoo said, "I wouldn't have to ask you. I wonder what it's gonna take to get her to confide in either me or you. She must be holding something back." He looked hard at Roarke for a moment, then added, "She never cries, did you notice that?"

"Yes, I have noticed," Roarke said, nodding slowly. "Despite the enormousness of whatever she is bottling up inside her, she apparently refuses to allow herself even the release of tears. Little wonder she is beginning to suffer the effects."

Tattoo gathered together a stack of outgoing envelopes. "Well, I hope she decides to open up soon, or something terrible's gonna happen that'll force the issue. She's already made a few mistakes." His own words made him pause for a moment. "The funny thing about that is, every time she does it, she looks terrified. Boss, do you suppose she thinks we're gonna beat her for a few little goofs?"

Roarke raised one eyebrow at him and grinned slightly. "I certainly hope not." He sobered and gazed again at the ceiling, as though he could see through it to Leslie's room overhead. "I can't force her trust in us, my friend. We will simply have to be patient."

Tattoo left for home soon thereafter, taking the outgoing mail with him, and Roarke settled behind the desk with the intention of scheduling fantasies through the summer. But his mind seemed to have a will of its own; before he knew it he found himself thinking back over Leslie's deteriorating condition across the past few weeks. She had seemed so relieved when she'd made three new friends on her very first day of school, and had even suggested she ride the school bus with them so he wouldn't have to take her back and forth to school every day. Every evening when he or Tattoo asked about her day in school, she'd relate all sorts of cheerful anecdotes, making it seem as if everything was going smoothly for her. For awhile, he and Tattoo had both been glad enough of her apparent ease in school that they hadn't noticed her lack of negative stories to tell. Lately, though, it had become plain to Roarke, and now also Tattoo, that her cheerful façade was little more than that—an increasingly fragile veneer that no longer concealed the fact that she was plagued by some hidden problem or worry. It had even spilled over into the simple tasks Roarke had assigned her in the course of granting fantasies. More than once she had returned with the wrong item when Roarke sent her after something; she had accidentally hung up on a couple of business calls; and somehow she'd managed to get lost on a few occasions. It was never anything major, but when she realized what she'd done, she always had the terrified expression Tattoo had referred to. What was it that she refused to divulge to him, and why?

Shortly after lunch the following afternoon, Roarke set Leslie to stuffing envelopes, matching return letters to hopeful fantasizers with their pre-addressed envelopes. He then went out to check up on one of the fantasies, leaving her alone in the office. About an hour later he returned, with Tattoo arriving just behind him, and caught Leslie in the middle of slitting an envelope with a letter opener. She froze and gaped at them with wide, horrified eyes, her face already beginning to turn red.

"What's the matter, Leslie?" Tattoo asked.

Roarke approached the desk and realized that she was slicing open the envelopes she was supposed to be stuffing. "What are you doing?" he asked, frowning.

"I…accidentally put the wrong letters in the wrong envelopes," Leslie said in a thin voice. "I was trying to fix all the ones I did wrong before you got back, but…"

"Oh, Leslie," Roarke said, sighing. "Weren't you paying attention?" Her face grew redder and she compressed her lips, although this didn't quite hide the trembling of her chin, and stared at him with an unmistakably frightened look in her eyes. Even as he watched, they acquired the sheen of tears, but she was visibly restraining herself.

"I'll fix it," Leslie insisted. "I'll do it in my room." She lowered her head and scooped letters into a messy pile, clearly with the intention of fleeing upstairs.

"Leslie," Roarke said, catching her arm. "Stay here. I think it's time you and I had a talk. This has gone on long enough." He turned to Tattoo. "I hate to burden you with yet another task, my friend, but perhaps you'd finish this for Leslie, huh?"

Tattoo nodded, knowing what he was leaving unspoken. "Sure, boss, no problem at all." He gathered the envelopes together and glanced up at Leslie, who stared unseeingly out the open French doors behind the desk. "It's gonna be all right, Leslie," he felt compelled to say. "Just trust the boss, that's all." In response he saw her clench her jaw, as if clamping down harder than ever on her emotions. With a nearly inaudible sigh, he left.

Roarke rounded the desk, turned Leslie around to face him, and lifted her head so that she had to look at him. "I don't know what else to do, child. We had hoped that you were settling in here, and that things were smoothing out for you now that you have friends. But it's become plain that something is wrong. Are you quite certain you feel up to the tasks I've been giving you?"

A hint of desperation began to creep into her expression. "I really didn't mean to mess up like that," she managed, though her voice had thickened. Despite her best efforts, a tear slipped out of one eye.

Her reaction to this was instantaneous. A look of sheer horror crossed her features and she twisted frantically out of Roarke's grasp, turning her back on him and hunching over with her hands covering her face. He heard her gasp and saw her torso begin to tremble, and he realized she was trying desperately not to cry.

"Leslie," he said softly, drawing some of her hair back over her shoulder, "if you need to cry, then by all means do so. Don't hold it in—it's not good for you."

The words seemed to at last break through her already-crumbling defenses, and she burst into sobs, still hunched over and half turned away from him with her hands over her face. Roarke gathered her into his arms; she didn't resist, simply let him hold her. When he started to smooth her hair in an attempt to comfort her, the entire dam broke loose and she stood there bawling in his embrace.

Roarke waited patiently, rocking her a little while she loosed the pent-up misery of many days. Gradually, as she cried, she relaxed against him, and he smiled inwardly, certain that he could finally help her, for this was a sign of trust.

Finally Leslie's tears were spent and she lifted her head hesitantly, staring at him warily. He smiled at her and brushed back some of her hair, then produced a handkerchief from somewhere and dried the tears from her cheeks. "Do you feel a little better now?"

She blinked, sniffed loudly and nodded as if in surprise. "I th-think so."

"Good," he said. "I believe this is the first time I've seen you cry."

"I didn't think I should," she admitted candidly, surprising him. "I was afraid to."

"Why?" he probed, keeping his voice gentle.

"Because of my father," Leslie said. "He always hated it when my sisters or I cried. It used to make him really mad, and then when we were older, he'd smack us when we cried. So we learned not to do it around him. He couldn't stand us anyway, and he didn't keep it a secret. Kristy was scared to death of him. She was always the most timid of the three of us. Kelly used to get in trouble just to make him mad. I just didn't want anything to do with him."

"I see," Roarke mused. He focused on her. "Leslie, my child, don't ever feel that you need to hide anything from either Tattoo or me. Remember, you no longer need the self-defense mechanisms you developed to ease life with Michael Hamilton. I want you to be assured that I will never, _ever_, raise a hand to you, or my voice against you. If something is wrong, or you have a problem or question, come to me and I will help you, all right?"

"No matter what it is?" Leslie asked, trying to cover all contingencies. "Even if I make the worst mistakes possible?"

Roarke chuckled. "No matter what," he said, nodding. "Mistakes are an inevitable part of being human, so you need not feel as if you've committed a felony every time you happen to have a mishap. Those you've made have been minor and can be easily corrected." He cleared his throat. "Now then…just what is it that's been bothering you and causing you nightmares every night?"

"How did you know I've been having nightmares?" Leslie asked, astonished.

"Obviously you were unaware that it's been showing on your face, especially lately," Roarke observed. "You claimed to be tired last night at a surprisingly early hour, and your face has a shadowed look about it that suggests you haven't been getting enough sleep. Tell me, what are those nightmares about?"

"I don't know," Leslie said with some frustration. "I really am tired all the time, Mr. Roarke, and every morning I wish I could sleep another hour instead of getting up for school. They always wake me up, but I can never remember them."

"At all?" Roarke prompted. "You can't recall even the tiniest detail?"

She shook her head for a moment, then stopped, her eyes narrowing as she strained to remember. At length she mumbled, "I think…there's fire in those dreams."

Roarke thought back. "Quite strange. As I recall, the first occurrence of this nightmare happened the night of your first day of school. Can you think of anything that might have triggered the dream?"

Leslie considered it for some few minutes, then pulled her lower lip between her teeth and met Roarke's gaze. "Well, there was one thing that might've done it. I never told you and Tattoo that I met Camille Ichino that day. Remember when I was fretting about the girls on the plane, and Myeko admitted to being one of them? Camille was the other one. She's Lauren's cousin, and her mom's going to have quadruplets."

"Ah yes, I'm familiar with that family," Roarke said with sudden recognition. "They have already made the local news once before, when their oldest daughter, Andrea, was accepted into Harvard. She is due to leave the island for Boston in August. Andrea is the first Fantasy Island student ever to attend Harvard, and I am afraid the _Chronicle_ considered this a very large news story." He chuckled at some memory. "It was a rather sensational article, as I recall. So you met Camille formally on your first day of school, then. What happened?"

Leslie drew in a breath and told him about Camille's goading remarks that had finally driven her over the edge and made her lose her temper. "Everything was so new and strange to me already, and so much had happened to me in just a week. And I was scared enough of getting through my first day of school here. The things she said were just the last straw, and I couldn't help myself. So I blew up at her." She sighed. "She hasn't eaten lunch with us since then. Even Lauren won't go near her anymore, and that makes me feel guilty, since they related and they're supposed to be friends."

"How Lauren treats her cousin is her decision, Leslie, not yours," Roarke said, smiling to temper the words. "It appears to me that Lauren is fully aware that Camille is in the wrong, and has chosen to remain loyal to you as a result. As for Camille herself, there is very little you can do about that situation. I suggest you simply enjoy the friends you have, and try not to worry about Camille. All right?"

"Okay, Mr. Roarke," Leslie said and smiled back, then peered sheepishly at him from under her lashes. "And I really am sorry for messing up all those envelopes."

Roarke laughed. "Believe me, Leslie, there is no harm done. Now why don't you come with me to the pool so that we can be certain Mr. Anderson's fantasy is going smoothly."


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- March 10, 1979

Shortly after dark that evening, there was a knock on the door; Roarke glanced up and Tattoo went to answer it. Leslie was sitting in a chair beside Roarke's desk, reading an assigned chapter in her English text, and was too engrossed to notice.

However, when Tattoo opened the door expecting to see one of their guests, the voice that greeted him penetrated her consciousness and she looked up sharply. "Is Leslie around? I was hoping maybe I could talk to her."

Tattoo, who had been apprised of what Leslie had told Roarke that afternoon, eyed Camille Ichino coolly. "Just a minute, I'll find out if she wants to see you." He retreated from the door, noticed Leslie staring wide-eyed, and came back into the office proper to speak without Camille overhearing. "Do you want to see her, or should I tell her to leave?"

Leslie thought for a moment. "How does she look to you, Tattoo? I mean, does she look mean or upset, or what?"

Tattoo glanced back over his shoulder. "No. I'm not exactly sure, but I don't think she's here to bully you or anything. But it's up to you."

Leslie hesitated, and Roarke suggested in a low voice, "I strongly doubt that Camille would come here, to your home, so that she could treat you badly. Whatever you decide, though, don't keep her waiting there."

"Actually, you're right, Mr. Roarke," Leslie realized. "Okay, I guess I'll talk to her." She closed the textbook and laid it on her chair, then went up to the foyer and paused just atop the steps when she saw Camille standing uncertainly in the inner doorway.

"Hi, Leslie," Camille said.

"Hi," Leslie responded warily.

When Camille realized she wasn't going to say any more, she cleared her throat and asked, "Um, can you come out onto the porch for a minute? I wanted to talk with you."

Leslie debated the wisdom of this, but ultimately concluded that she couldn't let herself rely on the security of Roarke's and Tattoo's presence. "I guess," she said reluctantly and turned to her guardian. "Mr. Roarke, I'm going out onto the porch so Camille can talk with me in private."

"Very well," said Roarke, and Leslie approached the door while Camille turned aside and led the way through the outer foyer and the door that opened onto the veranda. They paused about halfway to the steps and stood facing each other in an uneasy, self-conscious silence. Leslie reasoned that it was Camille who had come here for whatever purpose, and thus it was up to her to make the first move; so she waited.

Finally Camille blew out a gusty breath and leaned back against the railing with palms flat down atop it so that her shoulders were somewhat hunched. "I know I probably sound pretty lame to you, but I wanted to tell you I'm sorry for what I said to you on your first day. I mean…I didn't know it was like that, the way your family died."

"It wasn't exactly something I wanted them to put in the paper," Leslie said dryly.

Camille snickered nervously. "Yeah, I can understand that. And heck, I can tell you're not taking advantage of living with Mr. Roarke or anything. So, uh…" She cleared her throat again and met Leslie's gaze, looking very sheepish. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry, and I hope we can be friends. I mean, if you're not too mad at me."

Leslie mulled it over, still a little leery, but decided to give Camille the benefit of the doubt. After all, she had come here alone, putting herself in Leslie's territory, and made the gesture of apologizing. If she didn't really mean it, she wouldn't have done it. So she looked up, smiled tentatively, and said, "I'd like to be friends too. Apology accepted."

Camille's face relaxed into a huge grin of relief. "That's great. Hey…I came over here for another reason too, actually. My birthday's next Thursday, and I wanted to give you an invitation." She reached into the little purse she carried and extracted a small square envelope which she handed to Leslie. "I hope Mr. Roarke'll let you come."

"It sounds like fun," Leslie said, pulling the flap out of the envelope and withdrawing the card inside. She examined the details as written on the interior and nodded. "Sure is convenient that your birthday falls during spring vacation."

Camille laughed. "Yeah, isn't it? When's your birthday?"

"May sixth," Leslie told her. "That's a Sunday, so I don't have to be in school on my birthday this year either." Both girls laughed. "Thanks for the invitation. I'll check with Mr. Roarke, but I'm pretty sure I can come."

"Great," Camille exclaimed enthusiastically. "You can call me and let me know…my number's 837. I guess I gotta go before my mother gets on my case for being out so late. See you later on, Leslie."

"See you," Leslie replied, watching Camille jog off the veranda and vanish into the darkness up the lane. Turning the party invitation over and over in her hands, she walked slowly back into the house.

"Are you okay, Leslie?" Tattoo asked the moment she stepped into view.

Surprised, Leslie looked up, then grinned. "Guess what," she said. "I've got a new friend. In fact, Camille gave me an invitation to her birthday party next Thursday."

"That's quite a turnaround," Tattoo remarked.

"But a welcome one, I'm sure," Roarke put in. "And before you ask, Leslie, yes, you may go." He chuckled at the look on her face.

"Do you read minds?" she asked point-blank.

Roarke affected a look of mock exasperation. "My dear Leslie, even you should be able to see that, having mentioned receiving the invitation, the logical next step would have been to ask for permission to attend the party. There is no mind-reading required."

Leslie grinned at him. "Just thought I'd ask. Well, I guess I better finish reading that chapter." She took her seat again and returned to the book she'd been reading.

Roarke and Tattoo looked at each other and both smiled broadly, in perfect unison. She had joined in their teasing, and that was another good sign that she was finally truly becoming at ease in her new home.

‡ ‡ ‡

After that, Leslie's nightmares came to an end, to Roarke's gratification; as often as not, her dreams had interrupted his own sleep, which in itself had puzzled him. The only explanation he could come up with was that he had also been awakened by a similar nightmare experienced by Leslie's mother fourteen years before, and would thus find himself affected by the daughter's dreams as well. This reasoning didn't satisfy him, but he could think of nothing else, and finally had to dismiss it as an unexplainable oddity.

In April, Camille's mother gave birth to the quadruplets she'd been expecting, and as Camille had predicted, media from the world over descended on the island trying to get photos and interviews. It was all the more newsworthy because the Ichinos' quads were an extreme rarity: two sets of identical twins, one set boys and the other girls. The babies were named Julianne, Jonathan, Jeremy and Jennette, in the order they had been born.

Of course, the quads were several weeks premature, so that they remained in the hospital for some time after Mrs. Ichino was released. In the meantime, Leslie and her other friends found themselves meeting at Camille's house every Monday afternoon for studying, rather than Myeko's, because Camille had to help her mother with quite a few household chores and often wound up doing them at the same time she and the other girls were trying to get their homework done. Camille's brother Tommy, a tenth-grader, was moving into a cellar bedroom, and his old room was being prepared for the infants when they came home. Camille shared her room with her older sister Andrea, but Leslie had yet to meet her, since Andrea was studying heavily for final exams preparatory to leaving for Harvard. Andrea always shut herself into the bedroom, so that her younger sister and her friends were relegated to the kitchen table; but they didn't mind, since it was easier for them to talk and help each other with their collective homework assignments.

In late April Roarke had come up with a new idea: granting children's fantasies. To this end he recruited a pretty, young blonde preschool teacher named Cindy, who turned out to be an orphan just as Leslie was. For awhile Leslie and Cindy compared notes in the course of getting acquainted; they discovered so much in common that Cindy began to treat Leslie a bit like a younger sister, and talked Roarke into letting Leslie come with them to greet the hot-air balloon in which fantasizing children were to arrive.

Thus was the stage set for a fantasy that Leslie would remember for many years to come. In fact, it would be the first one to stand out in her mind whenever she recalled her earliest months on Fantasy Island, because it made her realize exactly how attached she was becoming to her guardian, his assistant, and her new home.  
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_Yes…this led right into a novelization treatment of the May 6, 1979, episode "Cornelius and Alphonse / The Choice": another of my favorites! My version doesn't deviate much from the actual episode, so the next story in this "miniseries" will be another original tale. Thanks once again to jtbwriter and all my other faithful readers and reviewers._


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